


Nom

by SamCawthon



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, JUST FLUFF REALLY, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-16 00:28:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19306954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SamCawthon/pseuds/SamCawthon
Summary: Crowley’s stomach twisted with affection the moment he’d walked into the kitchen and seen Aziraphale standing there, smiling awkwardly and holding a plate with a clumsily put together breakfast crepe on it, topped with honey and berries.





	Nom

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cal1brations](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cal1brations/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Demus](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19135240) by [cal1brations](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cal1brations/pseuds/cal1brations). 



> For the amazing cal1brations, who's writing is fantastic in every way. The events of this story take place after their story, Demus. I'm also working on a comic of that story, so stay tuned in a month or so, when I should be just about done with it.

The evening after he spent the night with Crowley, Aziraphale went shopping. It wasn’t that he couldn’t just miracle objects into existence - which was a perfectly practical way of going about things, as Crowley always insisted - he just preferred going out and buying things with human money to making them appear, just for the charm, the immersion of it, something Crowley just never understood. Nevertheless, there was something special that Aziraphale was cooking up in his mind, and quite literally planning to cook up in his very own tiny apartment kitchen.

Of course he could always pop over to paris and pick it up, but it was for Crowley and after last night… well it was just imperative that he make it himself. Even if he’d never actually… made anything before. But he was sure that wouldn’t be a problem! Surely, it couldn’t be as difficult as all that to make a simple breakfast crepe. He’d had plenty of crepes before, he knew what they tasted like (oh, amazingness and perfection and wonderfulness), and he knew _roughly_ what went into them. There were plenty of recipes he could follow. This would be easy. And of course, there was finishing the whole thing before Crowley woke up, but Crowley slept like a bear, and Aziraphale doubted he’d ever slept in anything as comfortable as the cozy king-sized bed that he had upstairs. No, that wouldn’t be a problem at all.

So, with all of the ingredients neatly collected, or what he safely assumed were all the ingredients - he hadn’t really bothered to check before he went out exactly what it was that he needed to buy - he made his chipper way back to his beloved shop. He was certain anything he missed was easily replaceable with other ingredients.

Now then, he had several cookbooks lying around. One of them must have a suitable recipe in it. He just had to know what it was that Crowley would like. Truthfully, Aziraphale had never really bothered to ask if Crowley actually enjoyed the places he took him to lunch to. Crowley had merely never made it apparent that he might _not_ enjoy them. The fact was that in light of recent events and thousands of years of history, he knew rather more about what Crowley liked in the bedroom than what he liked on his plate, which was a thought that about a month ago would have seemed entirely inconceivable and horrendously inappropriate. Quite unbeffiting of an ethereal angelic being. But now it was just mildly peeving. How was he supposed to make Crowley his favorite dish if he didn’t even know what his favorite dish _was_?

Well… he supposed he could never go wrong with a classic buckwheat crepe. He could always get creative with those, he figured, if it turned out that he realized halfway through one that Crowley did in fact have a favorite, which he could conveniently incorporate before he takes his first bite. Yes, he thought as he shed his overcoat and donned an apron, taking his merry place before the stove, which hadn’t been used in a good few years.

Oh the look on Crowley’s face when Aziraphale presented him with a perfectly prepared meal in bed when he woke up this morning. He’d be in cahoots! In adorable, confused, blushing cahoots. Aziraphale adored when he could make Crowley feel special, loved. Appreciated, really. It pained him to think the treatment he’d been receiving in Hell after the fall. From the fall itself, no doubt! From heaven they’d all looked like falling stars, but to Crowley, it must have felt like the end of the world. Why, the fire, burning his skin and charring his wings, and wrenching tears from his eyes. The impact, landing painfully in an unfamiliar place that reeked of leaky pipes and sorrow. No, no, no, the mere thought made him want to cry.

He hadn’t cared about it much when it first occurred, despite his sympathetic nature, because he hadn’t known Crowley the way he’d come to know him in the thousands of years after. Certainly not the way he knew him now. It appalled him now to know that he’d used to think that he deserved that thousand light-year free fall - as Crowley himself described it - into the flaming pit. He had been much too preoccupied with fighting in or recovering from the war that resulted in such atrocities to be much concerned with the details of what had happened. Every angel that remained in heaven had been rejoicing - the thought! He could only imagine.

He had to make it a point to ask Crowley one of these days what it was like. Perhaps not today. Clearly not today. Today was meant to be a day of soft warm things. Like breakfast in bed, and perhaps later they would go enjoy a walk in St James’s Park, or a lovely evening in Paris, or maybe a nice cozy night in. Or perhaps —

“Oh dear!” Aziraphale was abruptly knocked from his musings when he looked down and suddenly realized that the smoke emanating from the frying pan in his hand was not in fact supposed to be there. And before he could attempt to peel what could no longer be classified as a crepe from the pan, he conveniently remembered that he had not buttered the pan.

“Oh dear, oh dear.” He said again, sighing in defeat. With a snap of his fingers the crepe was gone and the pan perfectly clean. “Let’s try this again shall we?”

*  *  *

Despite the fact that it was the first crepe - the first anything really - that Aziraphale had made himself, Crowley thought it was quite delicious, at least when he was licking it off Aziraphale’s cheek. The poor Angel had really made a mess of the place. There was batter sticking to the walls and all over his face and apron, there was a light mark on the ceiling, no doubt from the smoke that was rising up from the pan, and there were numerous bowls and measuring cups and spoons and forks and assorted baking items strewn across the countertop. Yet Crowley’s only thought was that this whole mess was all formed in Aziraphale’s attempts to do something kind for him - just for him!

Crowley’s stomach twisted with affection the moment he’d walked into the kitchen and seen Aziraphale standing there, smiling awkwardly and holding a plate with a clumsily put together breakfast crepe on it, topped with honey and berries. His hair was a mess, and he had looked worried to death that Crowley would take his first bite and not like it, so Crowley turned his attention to plastering messy morning kisses across his face and neck, because in the messiest of times he could always be sure that he loved the taste of Aziraphale more than anything else.

“Mh, so,” Aziraphale only distractedly managed to say, “Did you like it?”

“Loved it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Help me clean this up, will you my dear?” Aziraphale runs his hands through Crowley’s hair to press his face deeper into his neck. And what and idyllic little moment, he thought, distantly realizing that he’d never once spent a morning with Crowley, and that, well, he very much enjoyed him this way. Soft and lovely and, oh so wonderful. Without taking his lips of Aziraphale’s neck, Crowley reached out and with a snap of his fingers the kitchen was back to it’s homey, pristine condition.

“Thank you.”

“Shhhh.” Crowley said, pressing his head up so that Aziraphale’s cheek was resting comfortably on the side of his head, nested in his hair - which was a mess this morning. “I’m giving you affection, Angel.”

Aziraphale thought that if they were to stay like this forever, that that would be just perfectly fine with him. It was with great effort that he lightly nudged Crowley away and said, his voice laced with affection, “My darling, you’re still half asleep.”

Crowley seemed to start at this, and raised his head fully to meet Aziraphale’s eyes, their noses brushing together ever so lightly. With this view, Aziraphale could see the morning sun reflecting Crowley’s naturally bright yellow eyes and thought fondly that they resembled sunlight through a jar of honey, or more appropriately descriptive of his personality, through a glass of good whiskey. Separate from this thought was that of Crowley clearly being just awake enough to know exactly what he was doing.

“You’re so lovely.” He said. Aziraphale wanted to kiss him, or be as physically close to him as possible. Perhaps both of those things. Yes, that would do nicely. “I can’t understand why someone so lovely would take the time to do such wonderful things for me.”

“You deserve nice things,” Aziraphale said, pressing up close to him. Everything about him was soft and perfect, quite unbefitting of a demon, but entirely fitting for Crowley. 

“You’re a nice thing,” said Crowley, comfortably situating himself between Aziraphale’s arms, while Aziraphale busied himself planting soft kisses on his forehead.

“You should stay over more often, my dear.”

“Yes,” said Crowley, finally leaving a single kiss on Aziraphale’s lips. They lingered there for a moment, drinking in the sunlight and each other.

“Yes I should.”


End file.
